


Destiel Ink

by Casstolemypen



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Destiel - Freeform, M/M, Tattoo Kink, destiel smut, tattooed destiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-25
Updated: 2017-07-25
Packaged: 2018-12-06 22:19:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11610093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Casstolemypen/pseuds/Casstolemypen
Summary: Dean uses his new art to combat addiciton. Castiel shows how much he cares with new body art.This came from a challenge on the supernatural amino, and i added some smutty bits before posting here.





	Destiel Ink

Dean was itching for new ink. The feeling had been there for a while, but he wasn’t sure what to have done. Every day the need increased. He wasn’t new to this feeling by far. Each time he had gotten a new piece of work before it sated the craving, but not for long. Castiel could recognize the look on his face as Dean was dreaming up his next addition. Colorful works of the obstacles they had faced were etched up and down Dean’s arms, some reaching his neck and wrapping around his shoulders to his back.

His first tattoo had been the anti-possession symbol, located over his heart. Both he and Sammy got that one done together. They saw it in one of their dad’s old folklore books and decided rather quickly they should ink into their flesh. The flames he had done in honor of his mother were hyper realistic, touching the side of his neck, chest, shoulder blade, and down his right shoulder. In the middle of the flames taking up his entire upper arm was Mary Winchester, wrapped in a white dress she had worn on her wedding day. Her blonde hair was parted down the middle and flowed much longer than it had actually been. It was reminiscent of waves in the ocean.

Below that was an homage to his father, who despite being a hardass and a drunk tried his best to raise his boys. It was an intricate black and white image of an old colt his father had, that was passed down to him and his brother, Sam. Hidden in the details were his father’s initials, the only change to how the weapon really looked. On the inside of his arm just next to the colt was a copy of the initials he and Sam had carved into the dashboard of baby. John had been pissed but it represented a rare bright spot in their childhood that Dean felt the need to commemorate. 

Of course he had an image of baby across his forearm. She was in full color with a blazing sunset behind her, making her paint gleam. 

Having finished adding pieces to his right arm Dean went back to his favorite artist to have the negative space filled it. A faint tribal looking swirl and protection symbols snaked their way between all the pieces connecting all the pieces of Dean’s life, like his family had done for him. 

Dean always felt awful for losing the necklace Sam gave him as a child. It was one Christmas where John had gone out drinking and didn’t come back for days. It was just them and Dean couldn’t manage to hold on to the damn thing, even though he wore it every day. It took him weeks to get the sketch just right before taking it to an artist. He didn’t bother redrawing it. Seeing how important it was to Dean the artist simply made a stencil out of the original drawing. Wanting it to be in a place he would see every day Dean had it placed on his left forearm and wrist, opposite baby. When it was all said and done the pendant was only about two inches long sitting on his inner wrist, the chain wrapped up over his mid forearm three times, crisscrossing. The chain was done in a black and grey color pattern with the pendant in a brighter copper/gold color to make it stand out better. The needles burnt like hell but it was all worth it. He couldn’t wait to show Sammy after getting it done. 

The silliest by far was a cartoon style silver spoon on the back of his lower left arm. Sam and Dean had a prank war where the loser would have to get a tattoo chosen by the other. Dean had lost and Sam picked the spoon because his brother was always putting spoons in his mouth when he fell asleep in the car. 

In his most recent battle with addiction Dean had told his brother that he hated him and how life would be so much better if Sam died in the fire instead of Mary. Dean regretted the words as soon as he came down from his high. Even after saying such wounding things, Sam was still there for Dean. It added to his determination to stay on the right path for his brother and for himself. His tattoos were a part of that. It kept his mind off the drugs and drinking. It still gave him the high he chased just in a much healthier manner. He loved the droning buzz of the needles but not as much as the sting and the burn after it was done. 

On his left shoulder, you could find was a scratchy picnic scene, like it had been drawn hastily. A red and blue plaid blanket laid in the grass. A woven basket, plates heaped with food, and a few beer bottles strew around. It was one of Dean’s favorite memories of Lisa. They had a back and forth relationship over the years. But in the end Dean regretted how he had destroyed things. 

It was another instance of his addiction rearing its head. Lisa gave him chance after chance to redeem himself but this was the last straw. He came home middle of the night, eyes blown wide, the hunter green barely showing. He was high on who knows what. He had hit the point where if it blurred reality he was willing to try it. Lisa spent the night calling all of his friends and even the bars he frequented, frantically trying to find him. She was just drifting into stress induced sleep when she heard him fall against the door as he opened it. When Lisa confronted him, Dean accused her of not letting him have any fun and trying to control him. He may have been a good soldier for his dad, but that had ended long ago. Awful names were used and in the end she took Ben and left, never speaking to him again.  
On his left shoulder blade, behind the happy looking picnic sat a rusted out blue-brown two door ’71 chevelle that belonged to Bobby. Bobby had helped raise the boys when John went off on his drinking binges. They spent much of their childhood in his home among the dusty tomes and rusted out cars. It was where Sam had learned how to read Latin and Dean learned how to work on cars. No matter how many cars they fixed up and sold Bobby always drove his favorite rust bucket. Dean got this one on the one year anniversary of Bobby’s death, drowning himself in the physical pain instead of the emotional pain. 

So far there were none of Castiel. Dean really wanted to change that but wasn’t sure how to broach the subject. And he didn’t have a clue how to commemorate his best friend turned boyfriend. Maybe wings? Nah, too cheesy and overdone. He didn’t want to just do a name either. So far all of his work was highly detailed drawings made by either the artist after Dean showed them a sketch he drew or Dean himself. Maybe he should just ask, but then it wouldn’t be a surprise like he wanted it to be. Or maybe he could ask Cas to get a matching one with him. That thought surprised the elder Winchester. He only ever considered getting matching tattoos with his brother, the one person he knew would never abandon him no matter what dumbass decision he made. 

In his spare time between work and family obligations he began sketching out random ideas. Several times he caught himself drawing Castiel eyes but could never get the glow of the blue just right. Other times he sketched out Castiel in his suit and trench coat. 

On one of these occasions, Dean was aimlessly sketching when he heard Castiel trip over something and yelled out "assbutt!" It wasn't the first time he'd heard Cas say the word but it always managed to make a huge grin break out over his face. Inspiration dawned on him just then. He pulled out his old laptop and typed it into word to play around with the fonts. After going through them all he found one he liked. It looked like cursive writing, but the writer was in a rush and drawn over it several times. Next dilemma was where to put it. 

Castiel recognized the mindless drawing as Dean's need for a new piece of work. He started thinking maybe he should get one. All his life he had never felt anything remotely like what he felt for him. He knew Dean was it for him, “the one". He never cared for anything physical with anyone else but with Dean he couldn't get enough. He loved tracing his fingers over his tattoos, curling up in bed, or fucking like they would never see each other again, it didn't matter what, and he couldn't get enough. Castiel didn't have any tattoos but he wondered how his boyfriend would react to his freshly inked named over his heart. It was cliché but Dean had his heart. He made the appointment for the following week a simple script in mind. 

When the time finally came he was vibrating with nervousness. He almost wished Dean would be at his side to calm him. A quick shake of his head, Castiel stopped himself from dragging Dean with him. It wouldn't take long he told himself, and Dean was worth a little pain. 

In the end it took longer than he expected, and more pain too. The artist tried to talk Castiel out of inking a name on his body, but he was set on it. Once the artist finally agreed, they got down to setting the stencil in just the right place. At the last minute Castiel had changed his mind, wanting the work in a more intimate place. He had the script lined up on his hip, along his v line. It was small lettering, only about a half inch tall and maybe and inch and a half long. Castiel had to steel himself against the new pain of the needle. He wondered how the hell Dean had so many if they all felt like this. He ground his teeth together and kept reminding himself this was for the man he loved.  
It took about a half hour to complete, and about the same amount of time for cleanup and instructions. He was given a salt water solution to clean the new art with and Castiel asked many questions before he was satisfied that he knew how to care for his first tattoo. Putting his black slacks on was a very uncomfortable sensation. They pressed the white bandage into his freshly punctured skin. He could not wait to get home and strip out of his pants…and show Dean of course. The thought made the bulge in his pants grow and strain against his zipper. It was a welcome distraction from the pain.

As it turned out it was a good thing Castiel didn’t ask his boyfriend to go with him, he was busy getting his own new addition. He added it under the typewriter print ‘bitch, jerk’ that he and Sam often called each other that was already on his ribs. He was more nervous about this one than any other piece he had done. He hoped Castiel saw the humor in it.  
They both got home about the same time, moving stiffly and trying to avoid clothing rubbing against their sensitive skin. They hugged awkwardly before Castiel’s excitement started to bubble over. He rushed Dean through the front door, barely shutting it before stripping out of his untucked shirt. A smartass comment died on Dean’s lips when he saw the familiar white gauze stuck to his boyfriend’s skin just over his hip. He pointed at it with an eyebrow cocked. After pressing down his pants low enough to uncover the rest of the gauze Castiel carefully peeled it from his skin. It took Dean a moment to register what he was reading. Slowly he dropped to his knees, moving closer to look at the workmanship. It was the best piece of work he’d ever seen, mostly because it marked Cas as his forever. He pressed a gentle kiss to the lowest point on the ‘n’. Castiel went weak in the knees, gripping tight to Dean’s shoulders to avoid falling. Dean breathed a laugh against the sensitive skin. Castiel took a moment to recover before speaking.

“You look so good on your knees, Dean. But you’d look even better with my cock in your mouth.”

They played this game often enough that Dean knew not to move until given express permission to do so. 

“Can I, sir?”

“You may.” Dean yanked at Castiel’s slacks and white cotton boxer, leaving them pooled around his ankles. 

His eyes darted back and forth between Castiel’s heavy cock and the fresh tattoo just above it. He drank in the image before him, trying to commit it to memory. Castiel grew impatient, a sharp tug to Dean’s hair brought him back around. 

“Have you forgotten what you are down there for?”

“No, sir.” Dean shuddered, licking his lips and leaning forward for the first taste. Castiel groaned at the first brush of Dean’s lips against his overly sensitive head. His hands relaxed, falling to his sides. This allowed Dean to set his own pace. He moved at a slow, even pace, wanting to show love and reverence to the one who changed his whole life for the better. It wasn’t long before both Dean and Castiel could feel his knees begin to quake, and nearly buckle. Cas tapped Dean’s shoulder, halting his movements. Without a word he retreated into the living room. Once settled on the couch he called out for his sub.

“Dean, crawl to me. Hands and knees.” 

Dean dropped onto his hands. He fought every urge in his body to move as quickly as he could to his lover. If he was crawling all the way through their home then he was gonna take his time and make a show of it. He stripped from his flannel shirt and jeans, leaving his t-shirt and boxers on, before following his instructions. To get to Castiel in the living room he would have to go through the entry room where he currently knelt, and the dining room. Curiosity made him wonder how far he could push his doms patience before he was punished. Excitement at the thought made his stomach tighten as well. 

He began his short journey with small “steps”, hands barely a fingers width apart. He repeated this all the way through the dining room, until he could finally see his goal. Cas sat in the middle of the overstuffed couch, legs spread wide, cock standings proudly between them, held loosely with one hand. The other was draped across the back of the couch. His face showed his dominance, a very smug look but the love he felt for his partner gleamed in his eyes. When Dean appeared in the doorway the look softened. Dean stuttered in his measured movements. 

“Were you told to stop?” Castiel asked sharply.

“N-no.”

Castiel tilted his head, frowning. The look jumpstarted Dean’s movement. He knew it meant he was getting dangerously close to being punished. He still moved in small measured steps, but with more fluidity in his body. He made sure to arch his back, shoulders square, denim clad ass thrust up into the air. The position gave his movements a slinky, sensual look. With his head tiled down and eyes pointed up, maintaining eye contact, a fierce need radiated off of Dean.  
The hand cradling Castiel’s girth did not remain still, once Dean began slinking towards him. It sent a chill through him. Dean looked at him as if he was in charge and Cas was the prey. Dean’s journey took him several minutes, but he finally reached Castiel’s feet. He took his time settling into place between his spread legs and waited for direction. 

“Are you done?” 

“I think so.” Dean smirked. Castiel moved quickly gripping Dean hard, by the hair, face shoved forward until he could feel Castiel pressed against the back of his throat. 

“Can’t smirk now, can you?” Satisfaction thrummed through his voice. “Now make me come.” 

Dean set about his task with determination, taking Castiel by surprise. Hollowed cheeks and spit slick lips slid up and down Castiel’s full length making his legs start to shake almost immediately. Castiel kept up a stream of soft moans and whimpers. Knowing how close he was, Dean slid a hand between his partners’ legs, grasping his balls. He moved his fingers with expert knowledge, alternating between barely there touches and a tighter grip. Castiel’s head dropped back against the couch as his hands made their way back to Dean’s hair. His hips thrust up to meet Dean’s lips in a stuttered, uneven pace. He moaned his lover’s name as he found his release, hot and thick flowing down Dean’s throat.  
Castiel’s arms fell to his sides as Dean twisted and slumped carefully against the couch, avoiding the fresh ink while they both tried to catch their breath.

“Stand up.”

Dean obeyed silently. 

“Remove all your clothes.”

Dean rolled the fabric of the hem of his t-shirt, stalling. 

“I can’t—not yet.” Dean spoke quietly, eyes downcast. “I have a surprise I want to show you later.”

“You have a choice then. Keep your shirt on and I will not touch you, but you may come or take it off, show me now and I will continue as I planned. Which do you prefer?”

Dean was torn, he had a plan to reveal the tattoo to Cas but he was so worked up he wasn’t sure he could go without Castiel touching him. The internal conflict played out across his face. After a few moments deliberation, Dean removed his shirt. It fell to the floor, followed shortly by his boxers. The only part of his form that remained covered was the small white rectangle over his side. 

“Will you show me?” Castiel asked in a softer voice.

Dean curled up one the couch facing Cas with his legs folded underneath him. When he was comfortably settled he carefully removed the white bandage. It landed in the pile of his discarded clothes. Castiel tilted his head as he looked at it. 

“Assbutt?” He asked perplexed.

“You yelled it last week when ya fell over the cat. I—it always makes me laugh when you say it.” Dean explained. “It seemed fitting there, ya know. Me ‘n’ Sammy always say bitch and jerk, you say assbutt….Do—it is ok? Do you like it?” Dean was rambling, nerves eating away at his insides. 

“I love it, Dean.” He pressed a gentle kiss to Dean’s lips. Dean crawled into his beloveds lap. Castiel’s hand slipped lower until it was between his lover’s legs. Dean froze, bottom lip held between his teeth, waiting for Cas to make a move. Cas started a frantic pace. His whole plan went out the window, so moved by Dean’s tattoo. Now he just needed to see his boyfriend fall apart under his hands and it didn’t take much before he did. Dean writhed on the couch, begging for more and screaming his release. Deans back arched in what looked like a painful backbend before all his muscles went lax and he collapsed into Castiel’s lap, half unconscious.


End file.
